Steve Wacksman
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I've noticed a trend lately: many of my fellow artsmiths posting pics of their pristine and well-organized workplaces. I am a true devotee of neatness and am easily driven to a state dangerously close to rage when I can't locate my keys, a particular item of clothing, or my evening sedatives. Don't ever want to be without those- believe me.
Buster watches over the git-fiddles.

However, it has been noted by many that man intrinsically posesses a dual nature, and here's where mine is most clearly illustrated: The workplace. It may surprise some of you that the magic tapestries I offer for your delectation are not woven isn a pristine vaccuum, but instead cobbled together in a maelstrom of detrius that most closely resembles the aftermath of a tropical storm in a trailer park.
Frequently onlookers will find me excitedly rifling through mountainous piles of scrap, looking for an errant sketch or hastily jotted note. brushes and pencils logjamming up the right hand side of my workspace with careless abandon. A fine peppering of eraser dust coats nearly everything. Books, magazines and receipts add to the landscape. An ancient Rolodex loaded with long-outdated contacts has taken up permanent residence in the left hand corner.
Indeed. this is a place for creation and nothing will stand in the way!
Fortunately my workplae is not subject to health inspection and in light of that fact it seems unlikely that things will ever change.
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